Zephyr
by singsongsung
Summary: Lucas. Peyton. Paris. 3:15 a.m. Cloudy skies, bookshelves, red bedrooms, photographs, and the search for true love always.


**A/N:** One year after their breakup. Paris, France. Lyrics courtesy of La Rocca – _amazing_ song (Paris). I haven't been to France in a while, so forgive anything unrealistic about physical surroundings…none of that is really significant, anyhow. Reviews are always appreciated. Enjoy.

Zephyr

_moved in from the south, to one you loved_

It's beautiful. It's soft lights and romance and pretty girls in even prettier clothes. It's art and history. It's the complexity and the simplicity of love merged together in something close to perfection, topped by the soft glow at the tip of the Eifel Tower.

It's not his usual vacation destination. He grew up thinking that a camping trip was a big deal, a huge event. For the first few years of his life, he never even ventured outside of North Carolina. It never bothered him. He adjusted to his circumstances early in life, embraced his history and his reality, even though it was difficult at times. It never bothered him, living in the world that his mother had built for him with everything she had. It was home.

It's not home anymore.

Here, he finds the perfect mix of foreign and familiar, and he understands why this is the ideal place from a broken-hearted kid from a small town to run to.

Haley has taken the tone of a psychologist lately when she's around him, and she says things like _finding new accomplishments_ and _soul-searching_. When his novel takes off, speaks to the hearts of millions of people around the world, Haley and Lindsey talk behind his back, and all of a sudden he's off on a whirlwind book tour, and he's found himself in France.

Lindsey doesn't know what's in France. She sends him away with a congratulatory hug and one last wistful glance – she will always have feelings for him that will never be reciprocated.

Haley knows, because Haley knows everything. She sends him off with one last supportive lecture, one last reminder of how much she loves him, and worried eyes. He tucks a picture of Haley's small but infinitely precious family into his back pocket as he walks toward the gate. A reminder of all the things he once thought he would have.

One of those things, the most important of all, is in France. And just as Haley knows, so does he. He shouldn't know. He's never asked, but he's heard. Girlish gossip and whispered tidbits of information between Haley and Brooke, who is still living the good life in New York City, lonely but with incomparable success under her belt. She needs friends and love and support, but she'll have to find those things somewhere else.

Because they could have sent him to New York. He's sure his book has the same popularity in the country of his birth.

But he finds himself in Paris.

_said "I'm not made of glass tonight"_

Lately he's adopted a strangely fearless and independent attitude that worries Haley. He takes long walks at night by himself, stays at home during the day, and disappears for weekends so that he can attempt something he's never tried before. Bungee-jumping, rock climbing, racing cars. He's on a search for adrenaline. For the feeling that will prove that he's really and truly alive.

His brother, miraculously, is the only one who understands this. He calms Haley down, drops subtle reminders that he's always there, and does nothing more.

Maybe Nathan is the reason he's ended up here, in the city of the light.

The city that holds what he used to consider the most vital part of his life.

He doesn't speak much French, so he thinks that it might not be a good idea for him to attempt a life-threatening activity when the instructions are given in a language in which he can say only _hello_, _my name is_, and _where's the nearest hospital_? The last one is probably the most essential, but he can't speak if he's unconscious. For Haley's sake, he decides not to take a risk.

He goes for a walk in the smallest hours of the morning. The city is gorgeous in its age, and it's as if every piece of it is packed with its own individual dose of what once was. He thinks he might appreciate that more in the quiet that exists only around 3:15 a.m.

No such quiet exists is Paris. It's streets are thick with tradition, but the people are packed into them, modern and fearless the way he wants to be. The kids remind Lucas of himself on the day he graduated high school.

The lights in the streets are bright, technicolour bursts that sting his eyes. Around him, everyone is celebrating, from birthdays to drunkenness to the sheer happiness brought on by that undaunted sense of _life_.

Leaning back against the base of some ancient piece of architecture, he tugs the photograph out of the right back pocket of his jeans. Nathan, Haley, and Jamie stare up at him, all wearing loving smiles. He flips the picture over and finds what he always knew was there.

It's an address, written in faint blue ink. This is the one risk Haley has given him permission to take.

He glances up at the street sign and it says the right name.

_and look at what you bring_

She opens the door warily, hesitantly, because it's three-thirty in the morning and there's a stranger there. When she sees who it is, she swings the door all the way open to stare at him. They stand like that for a few moments, looking at each other, but her eyes never register anything more than sleepiness and muted shock.

She's wearing a silver slip with lace at the top; it hits her mid-thigh and when she shifts her weight nervously from one hip to the other, the material moves, it shimmers, creating different shades of shiny grey that mirror the clouds in the late night sky.

When she steps aside to let him in, he moves quickly, but the moment as he steps across the foyer seems to last forever. She closes the door behind him, her fingers lazily sliding the chain into place, and there is something undoubtedly final about it when her fingers fall from the metal bolt.

She turns to walk further into her home and he follows her. His eyes stay focused on her body rather than the way in which she's decorated the place, but his eyes drift to her bookshelf and he stops short.

_have these words not meant a thing?_

There is an entire shelf dedicated to _An Unkindness of Ravens_. Hardcover, paperback, CD editions. Both French and English. Some are worn in, the corners of pages marking special spots, while others look like they haven't been touched since they were purchased.

Her fingers lace through his, drawing his attention again, and she gives him that smile. One that is sceptical and disbelieving but also kind, also shy. The smile that he fell in love with.

Wordlessly, she guides him through the winding corridors, up the steep staircase, and he thinks that this small house was meant for her, cloaked in mystery that hides its basic beauty.

His heart starts a quick, off-beat rhythm as she turns the doorknob on a room and pulls him through the door after her.

He has trouble breathing and remembers that he wants to ask if she hates him, how badly he truly hurt her, if she could ever love him again. His thumb traces tenderly over the skin at the inner part of her wrist and she turns to face him, intertwining the fingers of their free hands as well. She shakes her head and he knows that she doesn't want to talk. He can't help but squint his eyes a bit, unsure of this is the best decision, and then she grins for a split-second, a grin full of relief and joy, and she winks at him. It's sassy and sweet and it's only then that he notices that the walls of her bedroom are red.

His nervousness dies instantly and his mouths covers hers, his hand is in her hair, and his other arm circles her waist, bringing her as close to him as humanly possible.

_said "I'm not made of glass tonight"_

Her hands are nimble and impatient with the button and zipper on his jeans, her fingernails rake down his back after she pulls off his sweater, and somewhere between the moment when they collapse onto the bed as one and the moment his hands drift to the hem of her slip, she starts to cry.

He pauses and moves to wipe away her tears, but her own hands reach her face before his can and she shakes her head again, murmuring something that might be _I just missed you_ or _I just love you_, but it doesn't really matter which, because they both mean the same basic thing, and they both know that.

He treats her with infinite care, like she is the most delicate thing in the world, because he lost her once before and he is actively trying to make sure that doesn't happen again. She gasps and sighs and whispers his name, but he can feel the urgency in the ways she reciprocates his ministrations, because she wants more and she wants _now_. She promises him that she won't break and when she tells him she loves him, it's a sigh, on an exhale, and it is nothing but truth.

Still, he is careful and he is precise, because he is going to find life again and she is going to do it with him.

And when his name leaves her lips on a gasp of euphoria, filling the quiet of the air in her home, he is glad that he's made a mark on the space she has spent her time without him. He finds that adrenaline and _more_; all his muscles clench and his lips find hers and the soft movements of her hands on his back soothe him back down from the high of that feeling he's been searching for, something a little like heaven and a lot like home.

_and who's been living here, 'cause there's two of everything_

His body feels blissfully like lead, but when she falls asleep, curled up against his chest, he can't find that same peace. He tucks her carefully under her duvet and wonders out into her home in his boxers to have a look at the life she's made for herself here. He finds himself wondering if it could be his life, too.

Her bookshelves are filled with his own book, and the classics they both read back in high school, along with some newer bestsellers. She has two copies of a few things, and he wonders why, but just smiles to himself, figuring that she must buy multiple copies of books all the time, for whatever reason she does.

The living room area is modern and classy with her typical edginess thrown in. He sits down on the couch and glances over at the glass table next to it, picks up a thick booklet of pages strung together.

It's a screenplay with a sticky note addressed to Julian Baker stuck on the first page, and things start to fall into place.

The kitchen works as confirmation. There are two wine glasses in the sink and photos stuck haphazardly all over the refrigerator – there she is, glowing happily at the top of the Eifel Tower, laughing lightly as she hugs him at a party, playfully tilting her chin up for a kiss, sitting alone on a bench in a park, one knee pulled up to her chest, smiling shyly at the camera and the person behind it. There's one with Brooke, linked arms, pretty smiles, and cheeks pressed together, a bunch of friends he doesn't recognize, and that same picture of the Scott family that he's been carrying around for the past few days.

_said "I'm not breaking down tonight"_

On the small kitchen table there's a note that says _In Rouen until Tuesday to meet with Marcel. You know my number. Dinner at George's the night I get back. I love you, Peyt, don't miss me too much; Julian. _

Just as he knew where she was, he knows who Julian is and deep down, that he's always been there with her. He remembers walking in on Haley's webcam chat with Brooke, hearing Haley say, _It breaks my heart, but I want her to be happy, and it seems like she's really found a good thing with Julian_ and Brooke, in the box on the screen, shaking her perfectly cut hair and insisting, _She's tricking her heart, and I'm worried._

He wants to believe Brooke, and he is surprised to feel a tear run down his cheek and drip off his chin. This is a taste of his own medicine and he hates himself for it.

_and hold my face so_

_paris, it knows_

He doesn't want to see any more, so he goes back to the bedroom – a bedroom she normally shares with another man – and crawls back into bed with her. The movement of the mattress wakes her, and she reaches for him automatically, and sighs his name without even opening her eyes.

She knows it's him, and she loves him.

Her fingers trace over the contours of his face, temples, nose, cheeks, jaw, and her lips follow her path, and Julian couldn't matter less in that moment.

_you found me, that's all you had to do_

_you found me, that's all you had to do_

His body aches for her the way his heart has for the past year, and she must know, because she opens her eyes and everything he needs to see is there, shining back at him, highlighted in a perfect shade of green. She is vulnerable yet confident, tender yet firm, mischievous and shy, as she whispers, _Luke…_

They don't need words and they never have – he has given her all he ever could in speech, he wrote it down and told the world. He doesn't waste time on foreplay, and buries his head in her neck when he slips into her and relishes the feeling of her kisses against the side of his head and the heel of her foot against the small of his back.

No words are needed, but he tells her that he loves her anyway.

_it's funny how a town can get found out_

He tells her about Haley and the address on the back of the photograph, and she laughs because if not she'll probably cry as she doodles lazily on his chest with the pad of her index finger. She says that she has come to a point where this really feels like home, and he looks at her for a long moment before he tells her that he can understand that.

_oh, am I making sense tonight?_

They talk like they used to when they were kids, quiet voices whispering on subjects that range, anything and everything, always with an undertone, an unspoken vibe, the questions of _true love_ and _always_. He thinks that if he spoke the same words to anyone else, they wouldn't understand the same way. She rests her thumb against the space between her lips when he speaks, as if she's trying to stop herself from smiling too widely or kissing him too soon, and it makes his heart melt in ways he could never really tell her.

_and look at what you bring_

When the phone rings, a classy, continental trill, she ignores it and curls up closer to him instead, teasing him about how sexy he is and kissing his neck. The message that begins on the answering machine stops her short.

_Hey, baby, I'm sorry to call so late – or early, I guess. I'm glad I didn't wake you. I need to go to England for a couple days; I'm sorry, I promise to bring you home some of that tea from that place you love. I'll call you at a more decent hour when I get there. I love you._

She freezes and her eyes are all regret – but he's not sure where her remorse is directed, and they pull away from each other at the same time.

_has this time not meant a thing?_

She sighs, whispers something like _oh my God_. As she thinks, she bites her lip and focuses her gaze on the ceiling. Lucas watches her, wondering if this was a hello and a goodbye. He wonders if this was all he will get.

He wonders who it's worse for.

And he wonders if she meant what she said.

His heart believes that she loves him, _knows_ it to be true. But his mind wonders what would be the best decision for her to make. Logic can beat out love. He's learned that the hard way.

She looks over at him with a sad smile on her lips and he thinks that she might crush his heart here and now, like he once did to her, but instead she just runs her fingers lightly through his hair, throws back the duvet, pulls her slip back over her head, and says that she's going to make them some hot cocoa.

_oh, am I second class tonight_

He begins to think, as he lies alone in her bed, that this might be what he deserves. She has a good life here, she really does. She has a man who loves her enough to leave her notes and messages and remember what place in London she likes her tea from. She has this little home, perfect for her.

Maybe he needs to let her go. Maybe it was a mistake to come here tonight, to put them both through this.

And then he remembers all the copies of his book on her shelf and the feeling of her breath against his neck, the way his heart swells only when he is around her, and he knows that this is worth fighting for.

_and hold my sleeve so_

_paris, it knows_

She comes back with two coffee mugs topped with foam. She gets the frothy substance all over her nose and lips and chin, and he kisses it all away. He says that they should talk, but she just presses her finger against his lips and looks him right in the eye, her own stormy green orbs filled with nothing short of certainty. She's going to make this work for them.

_It has always been you_, she says, and he believes it with everything in him because he feels the exact same way. He pulls the mug from her hands and kisses her, pushing her back into the mattress, and she breaks from him when she giggles, _oh, here we go again_.

It is morning by the time they're finally so exhausted they can do nothing but sleep. It's backwards and strange but it feels right. Her place is frigid even under the covers, even with body heat, even with the sun pouring in through the small spaces between the curtains. He pulls back on his lightweight sweater and she falls asleep curled up half on top of him, grasping a handful of his sleeve in her fist.

Neither of them are going to let go ever again.

_you found me, that's all you had to do_

_you found me, that's all you had to do_

_you found me, that's all you had to do_

When he wakes up late in the afternoon, she is staring at him with an angelic smile lighting up her entire face, but he finds himself hit in the face by reality, finds that he can't smile back. He starts talking – babbling, really – about how this is practically adultery and it really isn't fair. That _he_ hasn't really been fair to her, despite how much he has always loved her. He apologizes profusely for leaving her in that hotel room and what a big mistake it was, how it breaks his heart that she's found someone else because he can barely look at another girl without seeing her curls or her legs and he's off on a tangent and all of a sudden there are tears in his eyes.

She says _Shh_ and kisses the salty skin of his cheeks. She says that nothing matters but him and nothing ever has, and that he is here and they're together and there are no more questions or excuses.

He sighs in relief right before her lips crash into his, cutting off oxygen. But that doesn't matter because he's missed this, he could live off of this, and she is all he's ever needed, and now she's all he has.

_you found me, all I found was you_


End file.
